


Twopence for Your Love

by meli_fan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, I'm not Thomas Hardy but I tried, Mad From the Madding Crowd AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:31:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6863113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meli_fan/pseuds/meli_fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Farmer Waters falls for one Miss Stark when he sees her riding across his land.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twopence for Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> anon in tumblr asked for the proposal scene for these two and I delivered. Much as I love the movie, a part of me loved the dialogue form the book more, except when I prefer the movie's lol. So I give you a mix of both. Also, I apologize for being no Thomas Hardy, especially since I read the book in Spanish.
> 
> Unbetaed and with no doble checking, so I apologize for typos and mistakes.

When Farmer Waters smiled, the corners of his mouth spread timidly, as if his very body - and not only his soul - was scared of being too cheerful. His name was Gendry, and on working days he was a young man of sound judgement, although perhaps too stubborn, though this did not diminish his good character. He had just reached the time of life at which ‘young’ is ceasing to be the prefix of ‘man’ in speaking of one.Gendry Waters was twenty-eight, a responsible shepherd and a bachelor.

He had worked hard his whole life, and by this virtue he had managed to acquire enough money to buy his own small farm. Two dogs he kept, one old and one young, all the company to help him manage his modest state. Although of easy-going manners, Farmer Waters could not count too many friends, as his youth was marked by losing too much too soon making him distrustful of bonding too much with things you may lose. His companions were the green of the fields and the bleat of the sheep.

On a quiet morning before the sun rose he found himself looking down the road as he fixed the south grid, he hear two voices coming from below the hollow hill not far from where he stood. He remembered that a shed was there, guarding the cows of old Nan, as everyone called the widow who now owned the small piece of land. He could distinctly hear the voice of the old woman, and yet he became strangely enchanted by the strong voice of clear younger source.

“I think we had better send for some oatmeal,” said the elder woman: ‘there’s no more bran.”

“Yes, aunt; and I’ll ride over for it as soon as it is light.”

“But there’s no side-saddle.”

“I can ride on the other: trust me.”

Waters, upon hearing such a confident remark, became more curious to observe her features, but the night sky was no friend in this as he could hardly see their forms with the weak lamp they were using. By an impulse he could not understand he stayed there listening to their conversation trying to picture the young girl until at last they went away. And thus a seed of curiosity planted itself in his soul, and even before he could form a face he knew her to be beautiful to his eyes. The Gods had pity on his humble soul, for it would only be a few hours before he got sight of her.

-

Not long had morning come when, during his wandering and musing he heard the steps of a horse at the foot of the hill, and soon there appeared in view a white horse with a girl on its back, ascending by the path leading past the cattleshed. She was the young woman of the night before. The confidence in which she rode - no side-saddle - made him sure of it. Her dark hair was bound by a loose braid, yet untamed curls managed to crown her head, awakening in him the desire to smooth them down with his own hands. Her face was long and, despite looking like she enjoyed outdoors, her skin was pale and seemed soft to the touch. A scarf covered her neck, blue and grey and worn out, and once again something else awoke in Farmer Waters new list of desires, to see the skin of her neck.

She came up and looked around — then on the other side of the hedge, giving him view of her eyes. The stormy grey would make her look serious if it wasn’t for the glow of mischief and vitality, which made them quite bewitching. She finally focused ahead on her path: It was not a bridle-path — merely a pedestrian’s track, and the boughs spread horizontally at a height which made it impossible to ride erect beneath them. The girl, dressed in breeches and no fancy riding habit, dropped backwards flat upon the horse back with ease, her head over its tail, her feet against its shoulders, and her eyes closed, uncaring. As soon as she she had passed the low branches, she went up to sit, leaving her forgotten scarf stuck in some branches.

The girl continued the path unaware of Gendry’s amusement and went on her way town. For the better part of an hour Farmer Waters smiled to himself at his own astonishment at the girl’s antics. He should’ve guessed her a naughty rider, what with her boast from the night before. He went to retrieve the scarf and smiled to himself once more. What a way the girl had to make him smile.

An hour passed, the girl returned with a bag of bran in front of her, this time not even bothering to avoid his land. Trotting on her horse across his field as if she belonged thetr, Waters was forced to admit that it was a nice picture, perhaps a fantasy. “Miss!” He called, and her riding came to a stop yet she did not look his way. “Miss!” He repeated again, using his booming voice, making her look at him. Oh and he could not help the blush on his cheeks when those eyes focused on his. As a way of hiding his treacherous demonstrative skin he went to look for her lost item as she got off her horse.

“My scarf!” she exclaimed as she approached. “I lost it.” She smiled nervously as she put it back on. “You must be Farmer Waters.”

“Gendry, yes.” He spoke with a calmness that his own heart could not understand.

“My aunt had told me about you. I’m working on her farm during winter.” She bit her lip. “This is your land… I’m trespassing”, she added in a whisper, as if she were sharing a secret with him.

“You’re welcome here.” He assured her. Silence overtook the moment then, and as he mentally berated himself for having no other topic of conversation, she shot him a queer look. 

Forgetting all courtesies, she simply smiled at him and turned to her horse. She got on top of the animal with expertise, “Good afternoon, farmer Waters.”

She did not look at him as he said his own “Good afternoon, miss.”

-

The next day she passed him as she went to the cow, she smiled and reached for his dog with amusement. Old Bull happily went on two feet and supported himself on the fence to allow her to pet him. Meanwhile, Gendry lost patience with the younger dog.

“Stop Bull! Enough!” He ordered while the dog ran around, making the sheep lose their way. “He doesn’t know when to stop, young Bull.”

She smiled as she balanced her bucket of milk on her left shoulder, making some of the skin on her arm bare. It made Gendry wish for a warmer day, where the skin of her arm could be all exposed. “What is this one called?”

“Old Bull.” He said plainly, yet her answer was a low chuckle as she petted the dog and repeated the name with mirth. “So you find me amusing, don’t you?”

The girl looked at him, her eyes barely chinks from the width of her smile. She looked very endearing with wrinkles in her skin, and all the more beautiful to Gendry’s eyes. She repeated her same goodbye as the day before, but this time when Gendry said “Good morning Miss” she turned to see him, and gave him a nod of goodbye.

The day turned cold as night came and he entered the hut near the fence and heaped more fuel upon the stove. The wind came in at the bottom of the door, and to prevent it Waters laid a sack there. Gendry had always known that when the fire was lighted and the door closed  
one of the windows must be kept open but on second thoughts the farmer considered that he would first sit down leaving both closed for a minute or two, till the temperature of the hut was a little raised. He sat down.

How long he remained unconscious Gendry never knew. He awoke with a splitting headache to the sounds of someone breathing hard as they grabbed him. Somebody was  
pulling him about, hands were loosening his neckerchief. He opened his eyes to find dusk settling and the girl of the pleasant lips beside him. Not only that, his head was on her lap and her fingers were unbuttoning his collar.

“What is the matter?” said Gendry with a weak voice. He did not know what made him more distracted, his recent fall into darkness or being like this with her, his head on her dress, her own body heat so closed to his own.

“Nothing now”, she answered, “since you are not dead. It is a wonder you were  
not suffocated in this hut of yours.”

She made him sit up, and the disappointment made him realise his manners “How can I thank you?” he said at last.

‘“Never mind that,” said the girl, smiling.

“I believe you saved my life, Miss - I don’t know your name. I know your  
aunt’s, but not yours.’  
“I would just as soon not tell it — rather not. There is no reason either why I  
should, as you probably will never have much to do with me.” She admitted with fierce pragmatism.

“Still, I should like to know.” Head to insist, for his peace of mind, on knowing her name.

“You can inquire at my aunt’s.” She said, was it an invitation to visit?

“My name is Gendry Waters.”

“And mine isn’t. You seem to have forgotten I knew your name already, it is only mine that shall remain a mystery.” She said with mirth. “Wouldn’t you enjoy the adventure of finding out?”

“I’ve never been one for adventures myself.” he admitted. “There seemed to be little of that when I was younger.” He expected she did not feel awkward at such a personal admission, but she only nodded in understanding.

“I used to wish for more adventures when I was younger, now I know better.” She admitted with less vitality than before. He knew her to be an orphan, but did not know how she came to that situation. Gendry so wished he could give her some comfort from her sad thoughts. “But still, I find joy in small mysteries and adventures, as much as farming can give us.” She added with a final smile, with the determination of giving life some spark.

“But still, I must thank you. Come, give me your hand!”

She hesitated, somewhat disconcerted at Gendry’s old-fashioned earnest conclusion. “Very well,” she said, and gave him her hand. He held it but an instant, and in his fear of being too demonstrative, swerved to the opposite extreme, touching her fingers with the lightness of a small-hearted person before letting go too soon for his liking or for anyone of good manners.

“I am sorry” he blurted out.

“What for?”

“Letting your hand go so quick.”

She studied him for a moment, grey eyes piercing him. “You may have it again if you like” She gave him her hand again.

Gendry held it longer this time, in fact for a curiously long time. “I can tell from the callouses you have not been wearing gloves when riding, miss!” he chuckled.

“Well that’s long enough,” said the miss, though without pulling it away. Their eyes locked as he did not let go, and something in his eyes must have betrayed him, because she soon looked uncomfortable and snatched back her hand. Gendry felt himself guilty for causing this. “Now find out my name,” she said teasingly.

-

It was easy to find out her name in town. Perhaps, too easy and this made Gendry anxious. Others have asked for Arya Stark’s name before, and it was now known around. If this mere fact made him anxious, it was not helped by finding out that the cow would go dry in seven days, and she would not longer go there for her milk. Each of those days he waited for her presence with the same restlessness in which his dogs waited for their meals. He dreaded the eighth day when she would not grace his presence, giving her friendly smiles and petting Old Bull across the fence.

And since time enjoys torturing us all, the days passed too quickly, and the eighth day came and she appeared no more to lighten his days, Gendry reaching a pitch of existence he never could have anticipated. Love is a possible strength in an actual weakness, and soon Gendry was determined to find an errand which may take him to her aunt’s house. He needed it quick, for she was a beauty with an old name - even with the name now fallen into poverty - and he was certain there would be other suitors that he could never compare with. Love also has the ability to fill one with hope, and he expected the Gods to be on his side, as well as her apparently lack of care to social norms, so she may say yes to him proposal. She would not mind him being a simple worker, better in position than her but with little else. He knew - a knowledge which came from hope which, again, came from love - that he would make her his wife, else he would be good for nothing in this life.

He found his opportunity in the death of a ewe, mother of a living lamb. Gendry grabbed the lamb, and stalked across the fields to the house of Mrs Nan. Perhaps it was not so, as before he left his land he thoroughly cleaned his silver watch-chain with whiting, put new lacing straps to his boots, trimmed his beard with supreme concentration; took a new handkerchief from the bottom of his clothes-box and quickly made way to his beloved, lamb in his arms.

He was nearing their house when he saw them, cutting away the branches of a hedge of their backyard. Old Nan saw him first and turned to her niece, who stopped her administrations to look at him curiously.

Old Nan opened the door, letting him in with a smile. They exchanged pleasantries and Gendry inquired about Arya. The woman was quick to say she was washing and would join them soon, explaining that she had come work for her during winter as she had finished her studies and was unable to be a governess.

“She was far too wild, you see, always has been.” The woman explained as Arya walked inside, skin red from the hard work but looking lovely nevertheless. Gendry stood up nervously.

“Miss Arya Stark,” he started, causing her to smile at the use of her name. “I brought you a lamb.”

He extended the animal to her, and immediately her smile turned even brighter when she let out an ‘aww-’ sound and took the lamb eagerly, hugging it to her body. “Thank you mister Waters! It’s such a delightful little thing.”

“His mother died, and he came too soon to survive winter without her so I thought you’d like to raise it instead.” He explained as she played with the little animal, making him proud of his choice of a gift.

“Thank you that is… so very kind.” She said. Old Nan patted the lamb’s head and went toward the door announcing her intention to make some tea. Finally alone, Gendry worked up the courage to ask her.

“The lamb is not why I came.” He admitted.

“Go on,” She said, still looking down to her gift.

“Well Miss Stark, I wanted to ask you- would you like to marry me?” In front of him, her eyes looked up in shock, and she seemed unable to form words. “I’ve never asked anyone before” He admitted, perhaps apologizing if he lacked the magical words of those more inclined to poetry.

She let out a nervous laugh at his admission. “No”, she said next, “I should hope not.”

The nervous smile on Gendry’s face fell, and he tried very hard to keep his face from showing the dismay he felt inside. “Well… perhaps I uh… I should-” He shook his head to clear it. “Perhaps I should leave.”

He made to leave, but her words stopped him. “Mr. Waters there are things to consider.” She explained nervously but sympathetic. 

“Is someone waiting for you?” Gendry could live with the idea of her already having someone, but if her rejection came from his unworthiness…

“No”, she said quickly. “And then she sinned of being too honest, sounding much colder than she surely intended. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll marry you.”

Gendry masked his pain as good as he knew and bid his goodbye. “Good day to you then.”

He knew Old Nan probably had heard the exchange, and surely she would not berate him leaving without saying goodbye. Gendry did not want to see the pity in her eyes.

He had not walked far from the house when he heard her steps. “Mr. Waters! Wait!” He turned around, careful of not being too hopeful, and was glad that at least she was not running to return his gift or something like that. 

“I’m sorry, I- I didn’t say I wouldn’t marry you either,” She came to a stop in front of him, breathless and hands on her hips. “I haven’t ever really thought about it.” She explained. She still seemed too surprised at his proposal.

“I have a hundred acres and two hundred sheep,” he explained, making a case for himself. “If I pay off the money, the farm is ours.” He hoped the idea of something being theirs sounded as pleasing to her as it did to him, since she smiled. “When we be married, I am quite sure I can  
work twice as hard as I do now. You could have a piano in a year or two.” He offered, but she let out a little laugh, and he knew that of course- she would rather have thirty horses that one piano.

Her silence only prompted him to continue. “We would have flowers and birds and a frame for cucumbers. Come Arya, think some of it?” She seemed agitated, and her left hand rose to her chest, prettily extended upon her bosom to still her heart. Despite it all, she let out a smile at his last offerings. “And in a few years, a baby or two-”

“Mr. Waters!” she frowned despite his hopeful smile.

“Or more!” He took a step towards her, looking for her eyes. He found little pity in them and for that he was thankful. She only seemed confused, as if he had proposed that they throw themselves off a cliff. “I would always be there for you.”

“It is no use, I do not want to marry.” She admitted, and there was more sadness in her than ought to be for someone so decided.

“Try.”

“Mr. Waters I do not want a husband,” she explained shocking her head, “I’d hate to be some man’s property.”No sooner had she frowned at the idea that she smiled at her own next words. “I wouldn’t mind being a bride at a wedding and having all those things, if I could do it without getting a husband.”

“That’s just stupid talk.” At this, Gendry found himself suddenly turning serious. He refused to keep smiling when she jested so of his proposal.

“You’re better off than me, Mr. Waters.” She said quickly, as if the thought had just come to her head. “I have an education, and nothing more. You could do much better.”

It was a bad argument. Gendry had yet to reach a powerful social profession to become choosy with his wife to be. She carried an old name with much aristocratic weight. “That’s not the reason.” He said finally, tired of lies. “Don’t be like that. Tell me plainly, why won’t you have me?”

“I cannot.”

“But, why?”

 

“Because I don’t love you.” She admitted. At this, he was not surprised, he was not foolish enough to think she would fall as easily as he did. Yet, he was certain they could make each other happy.

“Yes, but if I gave you time to think -”

“I don’t love you,” Arya Stark said. Her gentle yet firm voice proved that despite the lack of love, she cared for him, even a little.

“But I love you - and, as for myself, I am content to be liked.” Gendry all but begged, his hand trembling. Finally, her own hands went back to her waist, her face defiant.

“I’m too independent for you.” At her own boast, both of them let out a little laugh, and Gendry couldn’t help but admire her own wild desire to be free of marriage. Even when feeling rejected, she managed to get a smile out of him. “If I ever were to marry I’d want someone to tame me,” she said and Gendry avoided her eyes fear of Arya thinking he found her ridiculous. She was after all younger than him, and perhaps dreamed of relationships more passionate than grounded. “And you would never be able to do it.” He looked at her again, and Arya smiled as if she were explaining to a little boy. “You’d grow to despise me.”

“I would not.” he whispered earnestly. “Ever.” Her sad youthful smile was all the answer he needed. “I shall ask you no more.” he assured her with the most miserable smile any man on earth could ever muster. “Good day, miss Stark.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, please give comments pretty please?


End file.
